Stalker
by JMcK
Summary: JJ's got a problem.
1. Chapter 1

**Stalker**

Chapter One

It started so quietly, so unobtrusively, that it almost didn't seem real.

JJ dropped her purse by a teething ring and fell onto the couch with a pile of mail in her lap, drinking in the silence and considering a glass of wine, cherishing the thought of a weekend to herself.

Then, flipping through bills and an anniversary card from an aunt who never quite understood that she wasn't, in fact, married, she came upon an envelope that was unusually large, unusually stiff.

There was no postmark.

That was odd.

And she was still for several seconds.

Because in her line of work, this was never a good thing.

It could have been from a neighbour. A party invitation or something.

But she knew, instinctively, that it wasn't.

Maybe it was paranoia more than instinct.

All the same, she sat in silence a while longer, mourning (perhaps prematurely) her lost weekend.

Finally, when her stomach growled and she realized the room was growing dark, she tore the edge of the envelope and let the contents tumble out onto her coffee table.

It wasn't any better or worse than she'd imagined.

Just a picture, black and white.

Herself.

A random moment.

Making her way down the street, cell phone to her ear.

It was close-up enough that someone out there had a hell of a telephoto lens.

On the back, someone – she was already thinking of it as 'him' – _he_ had hand written the word '**sweetheart**', followed by what was ostensibly the date the photo was taken.

There was a feeling of uncomfortable warmth in her chest and she realized her heart had jolted to a faster beat.

She sat still and silent for another long moment.

Mourning, this time, the feeling of safety.

Most people took it for granted.

She didn't.

And she recognized, now, that it was gone.

She could feel the darkness closing in on her, and panic threatened as she strained her ears and listened and wondered if it was possible that there was someone in her home.

She grabbed her keys and the photo and moved for the door, trying desperately to block images from her mind.

Young women who had received an envelope like this, followed by another, and another.

Followed, then, by an assault of some kind.

It was just a picture, just a photograph.

She checked her back seat before getting into her car.

…

"What's wrong?" Emily questioned, foregoing even a 'hello'.

JJ handed her the envelope, followed her into the apartment.

Emily stopped cold in the middle of her kitchen when she'd slid the photograph out.

"It was in my mail when I got home today," JJ told her.

Worry creased Emily's forehead, and she flipped the photo over, scanned the writing on the back.

"There was no postmark," JJ added.

And Emily looked up at her, silent for a moment, before, finally:

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Let's sit down."

They did, and Emily looked the photo over again.

"We should call Hotch. We should call in a team, get this fingerprinted. But I think first we should call Hotch."

"Is this…" JJ started, feeling silly, but needing to ask. "Is this… _ever_… nothing?"

Emily's silence was enough of an answer, but after a moment she actually admitted:

"It's probably not."

"I knew that," JJ confessed.

"I know," Emily told her quietly, and she rubbed her shoulder as she moved for the phone.

…

Twenty minutes later, Hotch arrived at the apartment.

Five minutes after that, he stopped studying the photograph and started questioning her.

"Do you remember when this was? What you were doing? Whether there was anything that seemed out of the ordinary?"

"I can't. I don't. I've been trying. I don't know, I was probably picking up groceries or dry cleaning…"

"Has there been anything strange in recent weeks? Phone calls or emails?"

"Even just a feeling that someone might have been watching you?" Emily threw in.

"Nothing," she told them, and it felt like she was letting them down. "Look, I know these questions. I wish I had _something_ to tell you. But it's just this."

"And you don't recognize the handwriting?"

She shook her head 'no'.

"Where's Will? And Henry?" Hotch questioned. "Where are they tonight?"

"On a plane. Heading to New Orleans. We were supposed to take a trip together, take Henry down there for a week to introduce him to Will's family and friends. Will got sick of waiting for me to have the time."

Hotch nodded – probably remembering that he already knew most of this. And he told her:

"I think you should have this fingerprinted. I think you should let Morgan take a look at the photo, and Reid, the handwriting. Garcia might also be able to pull up any traffic cameras or nearby store surveillance on this date. Will you let me organize that for you?"

She thought it over, told him:

"Wait until Monday. Don't take away their weekend for me."

"JJ…" He didn't like that. "We get called in all the time --"

"Not for me and a photograph."

He was quiet for a moment, but he seemed to accept that. Then:

"I also think you shouldn't stay at home alone tonight."

"I've got a guest room," Emily offered.

"Good," Hotch agreed.

And that much seemed to be settled, with or without JJ's input.

She was trailing Hotch to Emily's door when he turned back, and seemed to be considering something.

"What?" JJ prompted.

"He doesn't want to scare you but he wants you to be careful," Emily filled in, and Hotch didn't try to correct her.

"Until we know more," he said instead, "I think it would be best for you to avoid going anywhere by yourself." Taking in her reaction to that, he added: "I know it's inconvenient. And…" He sighed. "It's a loss of independence. But we've all seen how these things can escalate. JJ, for my own piece of mind?" It was a request, and she nodded.

"Okay. I promise. For now."

She didn't miss the look that passed between Hotch and Emily before he left – the one that said 'keep an eye on her'.

All this, over a photograph.

Some lives they were leading.

She didn't argue when Emily suggested they both have a glass of wine.

…

She'd been staring out Emily's window at the incredible view for longer than she knew when Emily stepped up beside her, and noted:

"Sometimes looking out that window only makes me think too much."

JJ tore her gaze away, faced Emily. And Emily asked:

"Are you going to call Will?"

"I don't know. Not tonight. He'd want to know, but I feel better knowing they're safe somewhere else."

"What about Garcia?" Emily wanted to know.

And JJ remembered – they had plans tomorrow. Getting a start on their Christmas shopping.

"We'll tell her tomorrow."

"You still want to shop?"

She thought it over for only a moment, before deciding she wasn't giving up any more of this weekend they'd planned.

"Yeah."

They fell into silence again, and JJ kind of hated that.

It was all so damn tense and ominous.

"All those pictures you're seeing out there, they're not going to be you," Emily spoke up. "The acid burns and bullet wounds --"

"And broken necks and rape exams and --"

"JJ," Emily cut her off sharply. "That's not going to be you."

"Anybody else came to law enforcement with just a photograph, we'd tell them there was next to nothing we could do."

"And so this is going to be different. It's not going to be you because we're going to be on this."

"These things can go on for years."

Emily said nothing in response, and JJ turned to look at her again. Waited to see if she'd try to disagree.

Finally, Emily said:

"We're not going anywhere."

The devotion in her eyes was too much.

JJ could feel tears well up.

And when she tried to laugh at herself, Emily reached for her hand.

"It's a _photograph_!!" she all but yelled with a forced chuckle.

"JJ," Emily said quietly, drawing her attention.

And then she reached out and wrapped JJ up in a hug.

"It's not going to be you," Emily told her again.

And JJ wondered if she was giving away too much of her fear when she squeezed her back.

"It's not going to be you."

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Stalker**

Chapter Two

Garcia waited until they'd entered the restaurant and been seated before she said anything.

But then – as the other two women began arranging their shopping bags around the table –

"Out with it!" she demanded, looking from JJ to Emily and back again. At their surprise, she clarified: "JJ is looking at every man who passes by like he's about to bite her on the nose, and you, Miss Emily, haven't left her side for a second and I _know_ you would rather come with me to clothing fun than go with her to pick up baby food blah. What's the deal? Am I supposed to be worried? 'Cause I'm getting close to worried."

It was JJ who answered, looking mildly apologetic:

"I was going to tell you. I'm not all that interested in talking about it, all right? I just… got something in the mail, yesterday."

"What kind of something?" Garcia pressed.

"A photo. Of me. Candid, walking down the street. Typical stalker fare, which is why I'm just… maybe a little nervous, today."

Was the girl out of her mind?

"Why wasn't that photo in my possession in my office being run through my programs the second it reached your hands? JJ, I can help with this! I do this! You _know_ this!"

"I do, I talked to Hotch, we agreed to look into it on Monday."

"Well," Emily interjected, giving JJ a look. "You said Monday. Hotch was really more interested in immediacy."

"Smart man!" Garcia insisted. "Gold star, Agent Hotchner. Jaje, we know how these things go. What is not functioning in that pretty head today?"

Garcia looked at JJ, taking in her expression. The girl knew she was right. She hated it, but she knew.

"I'm just trying to enjoy the first weekend I've had to myself in months," JJ finally said.

"And how's that going, Jumpy?" Garcia asked, her tone gentle but intent on proving a point. "Having fun yet?"

JJ just looked at her, resigned.

And Emily jumped in, quietly:

"I… may have brought the photo," She admitted. Pulling it from her purse, she looked over at JJ and explained: "I heard you walking around last night. I haven't seen you eat a thing today." JJ opened her mouth to object, and Emily cut her off. "I know you don't need a lecture. I'm just saying, let us do this now, maybe you'll get a bite to eat and an hour or two of sleep before Monday."

JJ looked at her, held her gaze for a moment.

"You say that like anything we do or don't find out is going to make me feel better rather than worse," JJ pointed out.

"We can try," Emily offered, handing the photo to Garcia. It was under plastic now – mindful of fingerprints.

A moment passed in silence, Garcia looking it over, checking out the writing on the back.

Then suddenly, JJ spoke up quietly:

"You know what the worst part is?"

And then, at their looks, she added:

"Maybe not the worst part, but… the part that feels like a cheap shot?"

"What?" Emily prompted.

"Will," JJ told them, avoiding their eyes and instead watching her finger trace the rim of her water glass. "He calls me sweetheart."

They allowed a brieft moment of silence for that.

And then Garcia asked:

"Could this guy know that?"

And the dread returned to JJ's face.

"If he does, he's gotten closer than I thought."

Her phone rang in the silence that followed.

It took her a moment to step away and answer it.

When she returned, she looked both solemn and relieved.

"We have a case," she announced. "Eleven-year-old girl snatched from a mall in Texas. Which means we need to move."

"Eleven-year-old?" Emily questioned, trying to gather her own things at the same speed that JJ somehow seemed to be both grabbing her things and dialing her phone.

"Probably more tricked than snatched. All the same --"

"Right," Emily noted, chasing after her. "Looks like your weekend would have been shot, anyway."

JJ all but shrugged. Answered:

"Getting out of town is fine by me."

…

JJ was feeling energized when she ducked into her office to grab her ready-bag.

Moving, working, leaving town – it was all good.

The message light was blinking on her phone, but she'd access those messages remotely from the plane. A missing child always meant no time to spare.

She was nearly out the door again, ready-bag in hand, when she almost crashed head-on into Agent Andersen.

"You scared me," she noted casually, covering the little shocked gasp she hadn't been able to avoid.

"Sorry, but I wanted to catch you. There was a delivery earlier."

The feeling of unease – no, _dread_ – crept back into her.

"What kind of delivery?"

He held up a small box of chocolates.

She could see the attached note from where she stood – that same awful handwriting: '**For you, Sweetheart**'.

"Sweet guy, your husband," Agent Andersen noted congenially.

And JJ didn't bother to correct him on Will's official role.

She didn't do anything other than nod.

In fact, she was pretty sure she was staring.

The chocolates were here absolute favorites. A luxury. Christmas, her birthday, maybe Valentine's Day. That was it.

Who the hell was this guy?

And how was she supposed to focus on this case?

…

She'd tucked the miserable box of chocolates into an envelope and put the whole thing into her ready bag by the time she met up with the others at the elevator.

But there was no hiding that she was rattled.

"Something else happened?" Hotch asked immediately.

"Else?" Reid queried.

"Garcia… has, um, the photograph," JJ told Hotch. "The rest can…" She licked her dry lips, swallowed back her nerves. "It can wait."

"Something going on?" Morgan asked.

"Starting to be, I think," JJ admitted, looking at Emily and then Hotch. "I realize now's not the time."

"Let's get to the jet, get briefed," Hotch focused everyone. "Get ready. Then we'll talk."

No one argued.

But it was a damn tense elevator ride.

…

They were on the jet watching video surveillance from the mall on a laptop less than an hour later.

"She's nervous," Morgan pointed out, looking at the child in the grainy zoomed-in video. "He's talking her into walking out of there. She probably doesn't know him."

"These are the only angles we have?" Hotch questioned, and Garcia's face popped up onscreen.

"Only angles," she confirmed. "But I'm going to run enhancement software until I'm close enough to see if he's got contacts in his eyes."

"That'll be a trick," Rossi noted. "Seeing as we've only got him from behind."

"See if he's got plugs, then," Garcia amended, though her spirit was tempered by her next order of business: "Now, if I may? JJ?"

JJ looked up, pulled from deep and unpleasant thoughts, met her eyes onscreen.

"You find something?"

"Not yet, but I'm accessing all the video surveillance I can from that corner on that date. I'll be in touch ASAHP."

It took a moment of thought for that one.

"Humanly?"

"Or heroically. We'll see."

JJ nodded, told her:

"Thanks."

And Garcia disappeared from the screen.

"Answers, now?" Rossi prompted.

"I got a weird piece of mail last night," JJ started.

But before she could say anything else, Emily was holding out copies and going full steam ahead.

"Garcia's got the original," Em informed everyone. "She'll get someone fingerprinting. The guy's definitely got a hell of a zoom lens, he would have to be on the other side of the street to be unseen." As the others started looking over the photo, she turned to JJ. "What happened before we left?"

Wordless, JJ bent and pulled the box of chocolates from her bag.

"This. Delivered to the office."

"On a Saturday?" Reid was incredulous. "That's odd. How'd he know you'd be there?"

"We sure this isn't just Will trying to do something nice for you while he's gone?" Morgan questioned. "Picture would be weird as hell, but --"

"It's not his handwriting," JJ interrupted. "And he wouldn't. He'd know how I'd react. He knows I don't like surprises. He'd know this would be worse."

"Why didn't you call us last night?" Reid asked, looking genuinely confused by the thought, and maybe a tiny bit hurt.

"I didn't want to panic," JJ told him.

And before anyone could comment on that, Hotch noted:

"We'll have to get that fingerprinted, too." He gestured to the chocolates, held the box by the corners when he took it from her. Then he addressed the others: "We can't do anything else on the Dwyer kidnapping until we land. We have half an hour."

The others caught his meaning without it being implicitly stated – they were to work JJ's case until then.

Reid gestured to the notes, outlined what little he could glean from the wording and the writing.

"It's short and to the point, like he expects you to get it. Like he thinks he already has a relationship with you, which is… well, it's textbook. But just 'Sweetheart', nothing else… it feels…" He shot her an apologetic look. "It feels intimate."

He left a beat, and JJ tried not to feel everyone's eyes on her.

Then Reid continued:

"But it's at odds with the graphology, which is strange. He's nearly pressed what looks like a permanent marker right through the paper."

He lifted the note from the chocolates with a pen, to show them where the ink had bled through to the other side.

"The wording is gentle and familiar, but the handwriting is… angry. It's weird," Reid concluded.

"Garcia's analyzing the angles, trying to get a height?" Morgan asked, holding a copy of the photo.

"I'm sure she is." Emily offered a small smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if she calls later with height, weight, hair color --"

"Address and phone number," Reid added.

"And whether he, too, has contacts or hair plugs," Rossi added, smiling.

The hope and smiles didn't reach JJ.

"I think he's been watching me for four months," JJ announced soberly, garnering stares.

It threw them into silence for a moment. Then -

"Why?" Emily asked.

"'Cause those aren't chocolates you buy in the grocery store," JJ told them. "Those are from a boutique. Those are the kind of thing you only get as a gift. They're an old favorite. _My_ old favorite. I haven't had them since my birthday. But he knew. What to pick. For me." Emotion threatened to catch up with her. "Which means, he's been watching me, for at least four months."

Another moment of wretched silence, then Rossi jumped on the information:

"Why now? If he's been silently stalking her for months, why is he making contact _now_?"

Morgan spoke up, started what sounded almost like a lecture – he was their expert in obsessional crimes, after all – and JJ barely heard it.

She moved for the back of the plane, when the others were ensconced in what they were doing.

She went into the tiny washroom, stared at herself in the mirror.

Thought about all the things she'd done in the past four months.

Did this guy follow her to the gym? To buy groceries?

To take a walk with her son?

Her mind went further – did he know that there was that one section of curtains in the bedroom that never quite closed properly? Had he taken advantage of that? Watched her dress?

Watched her sleep?

Watched her with Will?

Did he know what she liked in the bedroom?

It made her want to vomit.

It all made her sick – the things he might or might not have seen, the fact that her team was a few feet away worrying about her instead of the eleven-year-old they were supposed to be trying to save.

Even the motion of the plane, she realized, as it caught up with her and she bent forward and retched.

…

Ten hours later, when leads had been exhausted and there was nothing else they could do for the poor Dwyer girl until morning, they checked into their hotel.

Their rooms were all blocked together, which was nice.

They trudged down the hall, as exhausted as their leads.

They came to Morgan's room first.

And though JJ's situation had been on a back burner for the past several hours, no one had forgotten it.

"If you think of anything," Morgan offered.

"Or need anything," Reid offered next.

JJ was either tired of talking about it or too tired to talk, it seemed, because she said a simple "Thanks", and went on her way.

Emily let her go, started unpacking in her own room.

She thought about just going to bed.

But a thought had occurred to her, and if anything happened to JJ and she hadn't done everything she could…

She left her own room, knocked on JJ's door.

JJ answered with her phone to her ear, held up her finger to signal that she needed a minute.

Emily followed her into the room.

"Love you too," JJ said casually after a moment. "Yeah, you too. Okay. Night." She looked relieved to be able to hang up.

"You told him?"

JJ bit her lip, shook her head.

"I didn't. I was going to. But he would have come here."

"And that would be… bad?" Emily queried, feeling her out.

"I don't want Henry anywhere near this. At least for now, he and Will are better off staying there."

"And you couldn't have told him that?"

"He wouldn't have listened. He gets crazy when he's scared for me. You remember him showing up in New York? He would have come here."

Emily nodded. Decided to let it go, and get to the matter at hand.

"Listen," she started. "I could get a cot. If you'd sleep better. I could sleep in here."

She watched JJ closely – saw what might have been half a second of consideration quickly turn to a less-than-convincing smile.

"I'm okay," JJ told her. "I appreciate the offer. But it's really… You don't need to do that. I feel better being away from home. And really… I mean…" She let her voice trail off, then smiled genuinely for the first time all day. "I'm a better shot than you, anyway."

"Oh, is that how it is?" Emily returned the teasing smile. "Try to get some sleep, Bulls-eye-Girl." She moved for the door. "If you need anything…" She let her voice trail off.

"Em?"

She turned back.

"Thank you," JJ told her. "Thanks."

With a nod, Emily left her.

…

When Emily woke it was sudden and disorienting.

She lay there in the dark room, and listened.

Wondering what had woken her up.

But then there was a bump -- _and a crash_ -- in the room next to hers --

_JJ's room_, she realized, flicking on a light and grabbing for her gun.

She was half way to the door when a gunshot boomed.

…


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: Apparently, sometimes, we break our own rules. This chapter in many ways felt like it called for a different kind of storytelling, but it's part of a larger plot and as such it is what it is. _

**Stalker**

Chapter Three

Later on, sitting in an ER waiting room, Emily would wonder if this is what Reid felt like all the time.

The most vivid of memories.

Seared into the mind's eye.

Unbidden.

There was Morgan.

_Hurtling_ down the hall --

_Diving_ into the stairwell --

Then, the door frame moving over her, as she stepped through it and into JJ's room.

(They said smell was the strongest precursor of memory, but it was the sight of those walls moving past her that was forever going to be connected to the most intense feeling of dread she'd ever known.)

The moment, then, that Hotch and Reid's kneeling forms parted and she could see beyond them, to JJ.

There was the thing she couldn't forget – the detail that hit her harder than the fact that her friend clutched a bed sheet with white knuckled fingers and pressed herself into the corner of the room.

It was the trail of blood dripping into her eye, staining the wide-eyed stare.

There were things she saw at the time that escaped her memory – the gun on the floor, the bullet lodged in the wall, the smashed mirror. Logistics that barely mattered.

She didn't remember them.

But she remembered the faces.

And the words.

…

"_Dave is calling an ambulance," Hotch told JJ quietly. _

_They were all so still, so painfully gentle, that JJ's reply sounded curt. _

"_I'm not hurt," she told them. _

"_That cut on your head… it begs to differ," Reid told her softly. _

_And Emily thought – so did her eyes. _

_Her eyes begged to differ, too. _

_The shock they'd all seen on too many faces – it was familiar, and it was there. _

_But there was something else, too. _

_Some kind of genuine confusion. _

_A beleaguered mind trying to make sense of something. _

_Hotch had seen it too – _

"_What is it, JJ?" he asked her. _

_She never looked at any of them. _

_  
But she asked them, lost in the thought of it: _

"_Can, um…" Her voice strained, and if she'd been more aware, she would have coughed that tone away. "Can you have someone go through my house? He's got… he's got something in my house." _

_Emily was vaguely aware of the other two agents exchanging a glance, but she couldn't rip her gaze away from those eyes. _

"_What kind of something, JJ?" Reid queried. _

"_I don't know." _

_There was more glancing as footsteps sounded behind them, and Emily didn't have to turn to know it was Morgan re-joining them, and she didn't have to see his face to recognize the torment in his words: _

"_I lost him." _

_Sirens reached their ears after that, and Rossi was back too, and when Emily turned she realized there were two young paramedics pushing a stretcher by his side. _

_She reached out to help JJ up, and wasn't particularly surprised when JJ barely registered her outstretched hand. _

"_How can we reach Will in New Orleans?" Rossi questioned. _

_And that caught JJ's attention. _

"_No," she told them rather sharply. "Don't call Will." _

_There was yet more glancing between them. _

_And then finally, JJ took Emily's hand. _

…

Reid found Emily in the waiting room, and had to touch her shoulder before she noticed him.

"How is she?"

"I don't know." Then, at his look: "She wouldn't let me stay with her."

Emily met his eyes, and neither of them said aloud that it was worrisome.

That if nothing much had happened, that might not have been the case.

"So far we haven't got much from the hotel," he said instead. "Their video surveillance is limited and the room's about as covered in fingerprints as you might expect. They do have a maid who isn't sure how she lost her master key, though, which probably explains how he got into her room."

Emily barely nodded.

Which made sense.

It hardly mattered.

He took a seat next to her.

And a moment later, she spoke up:

"She doesn't want us working this."

"Did she say that?"

"Not in so many words. But I asked her, in the ambulance, what happened. And I couldn't get much more from her than 'I'm not a case'."

"It's not really surprising," he pointed out.

"It's also not what she was saying yesterday," she countered.

And he thought about all the ways he could argue with her.

'Of course, things have changed.'

'Even the best case scenario…'

'JJ likes her privacy, always has.'

But he knew the question Emily was obsessing over.

And he'd seen those eyes of JJ's, too.

And so he sat with her, and said nothing.

…

There was always a fucking rock and a hard place.

Emily, to her credit, sat quietly and waited.

No pressure.

But it didn't make JJ's choice any easier.

The desire to never share any detail of those moments was strong.

But the desire to never have any of it happen again was stronger.

Not by much.

Enough, to make her settle on letting her friend the profiler in.

When she opened her mouth and no sound came out, Emily spoke instead:

"We can take it easy," she offered, leaning forward in her chair. "Tell me something that doesn't hurt."

With a grateful nod at the reprieve, JJ told her:

"He wore a mask."

It took a moment for Emily to process that, and when she did, she noted:

"That's unusual, for this situation. That might mean something. That's good."

Too many more moments passed in silence.

Then Emily asked:

"Tell me about your house. Why do you think he left something there?"

This was a harder question than Emily could know.

This one hurt.

"He knew things…" She paused at the inevitable nausea. "That he shouldn't know."

"About your house?"

"About Will. And me. Us."

The tone in Emily's voice at the next question told JJ she already suspected the answer:

"What kind of things?"

And JJ dared to meet her eyes then, just for a moment.

Just to see if Emily understood what had been ruined for her, when she admitted:

"He told me… _he knew what I wanted_. He said things Will says. And," she stopped, because if the look on Emily's face was any indication, she didn't have to say much more.

But Emily asked the hardest question, without ever really asking it at all.

"JJ…?" She was looking for confirmation, avoiding the words.

The tiny nod JJ managed in response sent the first of her tears sailing down her cheek.

She licked it away from her lip.

Locked her gaze on Emily's clenched fists.

And told her:

"He couldn't."

She could hear in the too-quiet room the breath Emily released.

She could see without really lifting her gaze to look that her friend felt hope at that.

A moment later Emily stood up and crossed over to sit next to her.

And a minute after that, something – maybe her stillness, maybe her tears – told Emily that there was more to it than that.

She didn't look up at Emily's face – didn't want to see – as Emily put together a question.

It was silly to have this conversation.

She could see it in her eyes -- Emily knew.

They all did.

"JJ… he couldn't…" The break in Emily's voice would have been incredibly touching if that kind of thing could have mattered anymore. "Or he couldn't..." The breaths it was taking Emily to get the words out, they hurt. "He couldn't _finish_?"

JJ held her own breath to avoid sobs.

Maybe Emily would be a profiler, in this moment.

That would help.

Maybe she would tell her that this was an anomaly, an oddity, and it might help them pin this guy down.

Maybe, if she said little more than that and walked out through that door, no one would have to break down.

But instead she whispered that she was _so sorry_.

And they both cried.

…

When the sun was about to come up and Emily had gathered much of the team in her own room, she went looking for the last of them.

Morgan wasn't answering his cell phone, wasn't with hotel security.

Wasn't in the stairwell where he'd failed, either.

She found him on the roof.

He looked her over, then didn't ask.

He turned back in the direction of the sun that was just beginning to rise, and lamented:

"She was ten feet away on the other side of the wall."

It was guilt and pain and _what-a-fucking-shame_, and she replied:

"I almost slept in her room last night."

Which was much the same.

She gave him a moment, then touched his arm and returned to business.

"We've got an hour to talk this out before we're supposed to be back at the local station."

…

Emily was intent on giving them the basic facts.

"He wore a mask. He's either planted some kind of audio or video devices in her home, or he's actually been in her home undetected. He tried to use things he's heard Will say and things he's seen Will do to impress her in bed."

Reid balked at that.

"The CSI guys… they said they found… that there was no conclusive evidence of… of any sexual activity. I thought – I _hoped_…?"

Emily shook her head.

This was all so damn surreal.

These words weren't supposed to have anything to do with them.

"He's not… entirely, impotent. But he couldn't… _maintain_ himself, either. He got angry, and that's when he hit her and when she managed to throw the TV remote at the mirror. She grabbed her gun and pulled the trigger but he was already taking off." She paused, and added: "She doesn't want us thinking about any of this any more than we have to. She wants us to take what we can and give it to the locals and then stay away from it."

None of them said anything at all for a long moment.

And though she'd promised JJ she'd quickly talk them through a preliminary profile and then force them to return to their own case, she had to ask:

"Has anybody called Garcia?"

No one answered for a moment, and then Morgan spoke up:

"I will."

There was more silence, and then it was Reid who broached the subject at hand.

"I don't know that I can tuck this away and give the Dwyer kidnapping the attention it deserves."

Emily met his eyes.

She understood. Completely.

But --

"I know that JJ wants us to."

"And she doesn't want us to call Will?" he asked.

"I think it's complicated," Emily told him. "Now more than ever. But no."

"Here's where we hit a wall," Morgan started. "We can't put together a preliminary profile and hand it over for two reasons. One, I've got questions JJ's not going to want to answer. Two, none of this makes sense. You can't pull a profile out of this mess. What's the picture, here?" he demanded, letting the tension get the better of him. "What the hell kind of stalker tries to emulate the current boyfriend? What kind of stalker gets wrapped up in some 'Sweetheart' fantasy and then doesn't even want his girl to see his face? We got all kinds of assumptions we can make about a guy who can't get started, but I don't even know what the hell this is. This is my thing! Obsession! I know these guys! And I don't get it."

"Let's talk about the mask," Rossi prompted, and Hotch nodded and added:

"I don't think we can rule out the possibility that she knows him, and would recognize him, and he knows it."

"Which is crap," Morgan spit. "That level of awareness is crap. You've got three basic stalkers. He knows her and he harrasses her day-to-day and face-to-face -- that's out. The basic love obsession says _job one_ is to make her _know he exists_ – he doesn't contact her like she already knows him. So we go to erotomania, which starts to fit because he_ for damn sure_ thinks there's something between them. But they don't do this. They keep their distance, and even when they don't, they're about romance. They don't escalate from chocolates to rape. Not in hours. And they sure as hell don't think they need a mask."

The frustration had him clenching his jaw, and he moved to where the photograph that had started all of this was laid out.

Looked over the handwriting that had already confused them.

Then turned back and looked Emily in the eye.

"I get why JJ doesn't want us anywhere near this." His eyes hardened, making a point. "_I get that_. But if we can't make sense of this, what are the locals gonna do?" He turned to Hotch, and changed his tone. "I need you to let me work this instead of the kidnapping. At least for today."

Hotch looked at his watch.

"We're supposed to be back at the station in seven minutes."

He said this, but none of them moved.

"I've not yet called Chief Strauss," he continued. "Obviously, JJ will be given leave. The rest of us will most likely be expected to focus on our own case."

He looked up at Morgan, told him:

"Let her sleep today. I'll make sure there's someone stationed at her door, and we'll talk to her tonight. There's still a missing child out there."

Still, no one moved.

So Hotch took the lead, and made his way to the door.

The others trailed after him. To work the most emotionally gruelling case there was with their sleep-deprived bodies and ill-prepared minds.

And to wonder, about these lives they were leading.

…

When they finally returned to the hotel that night, they'd made little progress and the elapsed time made it almost a certainty that the young Dwyer girl was dead.

It was enough to make any one of them want to crawl into bed and hide from the world.

But there was still JJ, and Emily trudged down the hall to her room.

There was no immediate answer to her knock, and Emily wondered briefly if she might have left for home, her case be damned.

But a moment later, JJ opened her door.

And she spoke first:

"They want me down at the station." At Emily's look, she clarified: "Not us. The local cops. They have questions."

"Why aren't they coming to you?"

"There's something they want me to see."

Emily looked her over. She looked like she was in the process of getting dressed for work. She was in professional clothes, though she'd missed a button and had yet to apply her eye makeup.

"You know you don't have to look the part of an agent," Emily told her. "Not for this."

"It's the same building. It's actually, believe it or not, some of the same people. One more reason not to be a fan of small towns. Yesterday I walked in there and shook their hands and let them know I was in control. Today…" She paused, added: "I don't need 'fragile, handle with care' stamped on my forehead."

It made enough sense, and Emily was ready to leave her to it.

"Let me know when you're ready. I'd like to go down there with you, and if you'll let him, Morgan too." She tempered her tone, made it apologetic. "He's got some questions. We all do."

Hoping JJ wouldn't argue about it, she moved for the door.

"Emily?" JJ called her back.

"We can't help if you don't let us," Emily tried.

But JJ's mind was elsewhere.

"I shot a man between the eyes and didn't blink."

Emily nodded, but didn't quite get it.

"I know."

"Will you please remember that right now?"

She gave her another nod. What was JJ getting at?

"I need help," JJ admitted.

"Okay," Emily told her.

And JJ's gaze turned to her own hands.

Emily followed JJ's eyes, and noted that she was clutching her eyeliner in one hand.

And both hands, they were shaky.

And it made sense.

There was no applying eyeliner with an unsteady hand.

JJ couldn't meet her eyes, which made sense to her, too.

There was pride to cling to.

And so she didn't say anything, other than:

"Sit down."

And JJ did.

They were silent as Emily took the eyeliner from her and got started.

It was odd.

And quiet.

And close quarters.

And Emily asked her:

"Has anyone talked to you about going home?"

"I'm not. I can't…" JJ trailed off. "I don't want to face home. Or Will. And I'm not allowed to work, and the locals don't want me to leave town, so I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to do other than sit in this room."

Emily left a moment of silence, in acknowledgement of that frustration.

Then:

"Then you're staying here for now."

"I guess I am."

Emily nodded, touched up the corner of her eye.

"I'm gonna get that cot."

It took a moment.

Maybe a moment to swallow the burden of the fact that nothing was over yet.

The fact that somehow, this might not even be the worst.

And then JJ told her:

"Okay."

…


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Sorry for the crazy long delay. I'll try to do better. And, please, bear with me after this… there's generally a method to my madness…_

**Stalker**

Chapter Four

She just wanted a hint of normalcy.

It wasn't so much to ask for.

There was a crack in the plastic chair she was sitting on, and it was pinching her leg, and it didn't bother her, and she wondered if it should.

She wondered if she'd even be considering it if she wasn't trying to occupy her mind with something other than Morgan's voice.

He was a good guy.

Sometimes they could drive each other a little bit crazy, but he was a good guy.

He was trying _so_ hard.

And she knew every detail of the other side of the fence.

And still she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when he suggested quietly that they could do 'this' by email, if it was easier.

They were in someone else's office and she couldn't look him in the eye.

(Normalcy, please.

All she wanted.)

"I think that would be crossing some kind of line, in the way of 'pathetic'," she told him quietly.

"Hell with that."

"Half an hour ago, maybe I would have taken you up on it. But aren't we just about done?"

He didn't confirm or deny, instead he told her:

"Talk to me about his mood. Demeanor. His attitude toward you."

"I told the police."

"Tell me."

She waited. But relented:

"It was… disconnected. Disjointed. One minute he was playing at some kind of sick love, the next, there was this…" It took just a second to find the word. "Hatred. In his eyes."

"Hatred?"

"Yeah." She managed to meet his eyes. "I get that that's not textbook."

He nodded, lost in thought for a moment. Told her:

"It's not anything."

And then, sighing heavily and moving to stand:

"Okay," he told her quietly. "We'll call that it for tonight."

She nodded and stood to follow him.

His voice was too gentle.

And Emily, who hadn't said a thing in several minutes, helped her with her coat.

Normal was a world away.

…

The Texas night air wasn't cool enough for her liking as they made their way to the Suburban.

The video footage the locals had called her in to watch had been a complete wash.

The half-hearted interrogation with Morgan had left her feeling equal parts exposed and pathetic.

And maybe it was all messing with her head, because –

Out of the corner of her eye –

Crazy as it was –

She could have sworn…

"JJ?"

Emily wore a quizzical look.

"You okay?"

"Apparently not."

"Ladies?" Morgan questioned, leaning on the open driver's side door.

"I thought I saw Henry," JJ told them, managing a small laugh.

And despite the laugh, it seemed real.

The toddler in the stroller was too far off now, but just a moment ago he'd been under a streetlight.

And she had, apparently, lost her mind.

"The same stroller," she told Emily, writing it off. "Caught my eye."

JJ ducked into the back seat, not wanting to see whatever concerned look might be passing between her colleagues.

…

They were half way back to the hotel when Emily's cell phone rang, breaking the complete and utter silence they'd been driving along in.

She glanced at the number.

It wasn't familiar, nor was it in their current area code.

She let it go, and no one said anything.

But when her phone registered a voice mail message had been left, curiosity got the better of her.

It was Will:

"Emily. Will. Lamontagne. This is maybe not right. But I'm getting a wee bit worried about JJ. I get it, it's busy, a case like this. But it's not like her not to call, least check in on our boy. And she's not taking calls, either, which is… well, it's almost stranger, maybe. So if you could just… make sure she's getting my messages? Maybe have her call me? She might kill me for calling you. Tell her anyway. Good night, now."

The message ended, and she restarted it, and held the phone out to JJ.

"Your call," she told her, meaning it in more ways than one.

…

Cell phone reception in their rooms was terrible.

It was a detail that had Hotch walking the street in front of the hotel while he wished Jack good night.

And he was smiling at Jack's exuberance – feeling sorry for his poor aunt that he wouldn't likely be sleepy any time soon – when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

It wasn't suspicious.

Just… _odd_.

And he had a mind that had been trained to note and be concerned by _odd_.

The boy couldn't have been more than fourteen.

On his own, walking up a hotel. Manila envelope in hand.

Hotch followed him, bidding Jack good bye.

He followed him right up to JJ's door, and the kid was none the wiser.

When he turned and saw Hotch watching him, he froze.

Hotch was prepared to block him, or chase him, as necessary.

But the kid only looked confused.

"I thought 'Sweetheart' would be a girl," the kid noted, and he held out the envelope.

Hotch recognized the black, block letters by now.

"Sit down," Hotch told the boy, and at the kid's surprised look, he added: "Yes, right here."

And he pulled out his phone.

…

"I'm almost there," Emily was explaining a moment later. "Getting in the elevator now. Might lose you."

Hotch hung up without bidding her goodbye, and just seconds later spotted her coming down the hall.

She was alone, which wasn't what he'd expected.

"Where are JJ and Morgan?"

"She stopped to call Will. He's waiting on her."

"Did she change her mind about --"

Emily shook her head 'no' before he could continue.

"She's just checking in." She fixed her eyes on the boy, then the envelope in Hotch's hands, and read the situation without much effort: "We have a witness?"

Hotch nodded.

"His being underage, we have to play this by the book. We have to let the locals question him, but --"

"But we can always request to observe?" Emily finished. "Request loudly." At Hotch's nod, she asked: "Are you coming?"

Hotch looked down at the envelope in his hands.

"I have to show this to JJ."

Emily nodded, appreciating how miserable a task that was.

"I'll grab Morgan." Then, to the kid: "You're with me."

"This isn't worth twenty bucks," the kid muttered.

And as Emily guided him toward the elevator, she told him:

"If you can describe the guy who paid you? It's worth a hell of a lot more than that."

…

Every time Hotch's eyes darted to the darkening bruise on JJ's neck, she noticed.

She knew he didn't want to look, but his eyes fell to that spot repeatedly anyway.

Nothing like being a human train wreck.

"Hotch?" she finally prompted.

He looked away from her neck, but still didn't have the words.

Instead, he held up a package.

And she steeled herself before she took it from him.

"Has anyone else seen this yet?" she asked.

"No," he told her.

And she thanked him, for that, before tearing open the envelope.

It was just another photograph.

(_It was another fucking photograph_.)

She was asleep in her own bed.

It was a close-up.

And she could feel the acid rolling in her stomach again.

She barely managed to ask --

"Can I get a moment?"

-- and barely heard him reply –

"I don't know that that's the best --"

-- before she was forced to sprint away from him, to the washroom, to rid her body of what little dinner she'd eaten.

And when she'd kicked the washroom door shut and pressed her forehead against the cool edge of the bathtub, she heard the door to the hotel room open and shut.

She thanked God for Hotch being Hotch.

And then she cried.

…

Out in the corridor, Hotch's mind wasn't on JJ's reaction to the photograph.

Rather, he was troubled by the image itself.

There was a single detail weighing on him, and he almost felt a little bit sick himself at the thought it brought to mind.

Surely, he was just becoming paranoid after all of these years.

Surely, the universe couldn't be quite that cruel.

Surely, he wouldn't have to have _that_ discussion with JJ.

At the very least, he'd confer with the others first.

…

Emily and Morgan were supposed to be only watching the kid's questioning.

But neither of them cared.

"Look at me," Morgan demanded, frustrated with the boy's immaturity.

He was starting to seem more stupid than stubborn.

"'Just a dumb white guy' isn't going to cut it," Emily put in.

"You're gonna give us details if we've gotta sit here 'til morning," Morgan hammered home. "Is that sinking in? You're gonna tell us how tall, how fat, how white, how many piercings or tattoos, accent or no --"

"Yeah, that!" the kid blurted out. "He did."

"An accent?" Morgan clarified.

"Like yours or like mine?" Emily questioned.

"His. All his."

"He wasn't southern?"

"Different kind."

"Of southern?"

"I don't know, what, I look like an expert to you?"

Morgan turned to one of the locals, asked –

"Can you get a laptop in here? Wireless internet? We need to give the kid some examples."

"Hang on," Emily told him, pulling her phone from her pocket and punching away at the buttons. Then she prompted the kid: "More like you or more like him?"

And she put her phone on speaker, and played a message.

It started:

"Emily. Will. Lamontagne. This is maybe not right. But I'm getting a wee bit worried about JJ. I get it…"

And the kid nodded, stood up, finally showing some enthusiasm.

"That! That's the guy."

Emily exchanged a glance with Morgan.

That was… wrong.

"You mean that's the accent?" Emily clarified.

"No, I mean _that's the guy_!" the kid spat.

And Emily looked to Morgan.

Sucker-punched.

…


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: As always, my apologies for my apparent inability to update in a reasonable time frame. Hope it's worth the wait… _

**Stalker**

Chapter Five

Emily and Morgan sat in stunned silence for a long moment after hopping into the car and slamming their doors.

Finally, Emily suggested:

"Maybe she doesn't have to know."

Morgan threw her an incredulous look.

"That the guy she's spending her life with is her stalker?"

"What if he's not?" She questioned. Morgan said nothing, stared out over the steering wheel. So Emily followed up: "You think he is?"

Morgan hesitated, then turned, told her:

"I think it sounds crazy enough to explain why nothing fits."

He wasn't happy about the thought. And Emily shoved the possibility from her mind, flashed on an image of JJ and Will together.

Sometimes, JJ seemed happy.

(Sometimes.)

Emily tried again:

"I asked Detective Shoals to come to us, instead of going straight to JJ. When she finds out if Will has an alibi."

"She agreed to that?"

"With a little pressing. If anyone has to go to JJ with this, it should be one of us."

"Emily, we don't go to JJ _right now_, she's gonna feel like we lied to her later. Not to mention I'm not so comfortable keeping Hotch out of the -"

His phone rang then, and it was Hotch.

And the choice was taken out of their hands.

…

There was something clandestine about the five of them meeting up in Hotch's hotel room without JJ.

It felt wrong, to Emily.

She watched Hotch as they waited for Reid to join them, watched his eyes as he scanned a report in his hands.

She had no idea what it was, but she suspected it had nothing to do with their missing eleven-year-old and everything to do with JJ.

Backing the paper in his hands was what appeared to be the new photograph.

And instinct told her this was about to feel even worse.

Morgan had already told Hotch about the kid's identification of Will's voice.

Hotch hadn't reacted.

And even with Hotch, that said something.

Emily didn't think she liked what that might be.

Reid appeared with wet hair, apparently straight from a shower, and looked at all of them.

"Did something happen?" he queried, then added: "I mean, um, something, else?"

Hotch released a quiet breath in a sigh, and opened his mouth to speak.

"We have a problem. There are a number of things starting to add up, most of which would mean nothing individually…" He trailed off for a moment. Then: "Will has surfaced as a potential suspect."

"JJ's Will?" Reid asked immediately, and in the moment that followed, his confusion turned to understanding. "That… that actually might…"

"Might make a sick kind of sense," Morgan finished for him. "Whoever this guy is, he doesn't fit any established stalker profile. Bastard trying to punish a woman with something _he knows she fears_? Makes a hell of a lot more sense."

"I can buy that Will would know how stalker cases get to her," Rossi acknowledged. "But do we have reason to believe he wants to punish her?"

"What we have is a witness who has identified Will's voice," Hotch told him.

"He could be just connecting to the accent," Emily cut in.

But Hotch continued:

"We also have these."

He put the photograph and the report on the table, spread them out.

"The photo made me wonder," Hotch told them. "On its own it could be nothing. But with all the inconsistencies in the profile, it caught my eye."

He waited, let them all look it over.

It was the most recent photo – the closeup of JJ asleep in her own bed.

And it was Reid that picked up on it first:

"There's an indent in the pillow behind her. Presumably Will's. Like someone just raised their head off it a moment ago."

Hotch nodded, told him:

"Which means either the unsub managed to get past their security system and into their house undetected, and waited for Will to get up to use the washroom, and risked sneaking into JJ's bedroom for the few seconds Will would be gone, or -"

"Will himself is the unsub," Rossi finished.

There was silence, and then:

"And this?" Emily picked up the report, started scanning it.

"The report on the search of JJ's home," Hotch told her. "She was convinced that someone had planted audio and video surveillance in her bedroom. That that was how the unsub knew… the things he knew."

"But there was nothing," Rossi guessed and stated.

And at Hotch's nod, Morgan added:

"Which means the only guy with that set of knowledge is Will."

No one suggested that JJ could have been bedding anyone besides Will.

(There was comfort in that.

At least they all knew JJ that well.)

"Do we really believe she wouldn't know?" Emily asked the room. "That she wouldn't somehow recognize that it was him, even with the mask? This man shares her bed."

"But in the dark, under those circumstances?" Rossi asked her. "I think you're reaching."

He was right.

And Emily avoided their eyes as a thought nagged at her.

She didn't want to put one more nail in Will's coffin.

She wasn't close to him, didn't feel any particular loyalty to him or his reputation.

But life could only ask so much of a woman, and JJ didn't deserve this.

The problem was that Emily was in a room full of profilers.

At least one of them caught the look on her face - Rossi.

"Something to add?" he prompted gently.

And so Emily told them, not without reluctance:

"Something Reid said on the plane. This guy sent chocolates to the office on a Saturday."

Reid nodded, added: "He could have sent the chocolates to her at home. She wasn't supposed to be at work. We just got called in. The significant thing is that he knew that."

"That," Emily acknowledged, "And that she called Will. Right after we got the call. Left him a message about how she'd be busy and working and might not be able to stay in touch."

She met Hotch's eyes. Took comfort in seeing that he hated this, too.

Morgan stated the obvious:

"So Will knew."

And Hotch spoke up with yet another nail:

"Will would also know exactly where to send them."

…

They started with that part, when they'd called JJ in.

It was easiest.

"Who did I call?" JJ repeated the question, surprised by it. "Why would I call anybody about your case?"

"You called Will," Emily noted.

"Right," JJ allowed, looking them all over, confused. "Why… what's this about?"

"Who else knew you would be at the office on Saturday?" Hotch asked quietly.

"No one," JJ told them easily. "Just you guys and Will. Look, Hotch, what is it you think I did? Why would I tell anyone we were coming here?"

"It's not like that," Morgan broke in. "No one's accusing you of anything."

JJ just looked at them, clearly lost.

But there was also dread building on her face, as the silence dragged on.

Somebody had to say it, and Emily stepped up, figuratively and literally.

She kept it simple:

"The boy who dropped off the last photograph identified Will's voice."

"As what?" JJ asked immediately.

There was more silence, and they all watched her process her way to the answer.

Shock dawned in her eyes, her mouth dropped open.

It took her a few seconds to become defensive.

(And the whole room of profilers, they noted those few seconds carefully.)

"You kidding me?" JJ finally asked, and then she turned away, rubbed the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes. Clearly reeling. "You're seriously considering Will as a suspect?"

"The locals here contacted the locals there," Morgan told her. "They're after an alibi." He left a beat, then admitted: "And I don't think he's gonna have one."

"Then you're wrong," JJ told him immediately. "You think you know the man I live with, the father of my son, better than me?"

"I think it's strange that you don't say 'the man that I love'," Morgan suggested.

And JJ chuckled a horrible little chuckle, shaking her head.

"Do you really think I wouldn't know if Will had that same birthmark?"

"Birthmark?" Morgan repeated.

"You never said anything about a birthmark," Emily noted gently.

JJ was confused by that for a moment. Then:

"I guess, because you were asking about his attitude, his demeanor. You were profiling. I gave a physical description to the local police. He had a birthmark on the back of his neck, just under where the mask covered. Looked just like a star."

They were all quiet for a moment, and then Morgan said it:

"You sure about that?"

"Are you kidding me?" JJ asked again.

"I'm just saying this is the first we're hearing of it. And sometimes our memories tell us what we need them to."

"My memory of that night is crystal clear," JJ all but spat, which prompted another moment of silence.

Then JJ asked them:

"Did any of you actually stop to think that Will couldn't have delivered chocolates to the office, what with his being already out of town when I called him?"

"We followed up on that," Morgan told her.

And Reid jumped in, because he didn't like the tension that was building between JJ and Morgan:

"The order was placed by phone, and a, um, a cash payment was dropped off," Reid told her, his eyes apologetic. "The owner thought it was weird, right? She told us that the voice on the phone and the voice of the boy, who dropped off the money, they weren't the same. And the voice on the phone was… uneven? Like someone was trying to disguise it."

"Which might mean hiding an accent," Rossi added.

JJ just shook her head again, paced away from them.

And when she turned back:

"Andersen knew I was coming into the office too, he handed me the chocolates, you gonna arrest him? How about everybody in the mall with us when I took the call? They heard us talking about going to work, think we should question them? Or just round up everybody with a southern accent, that could work too!"

"JJ, I'd like you to look at these," Hotch told her, his voice as even as ever.

"I've seen it," JJ returned, voice far from even.

"Will is missing from the other side of the bed," Hotch told her.

And that threw her for just a second, before anger returned.

"Look, I get that I'm not a _profiler_, but do you really think that I could live with a man for _two years_ and not know him at all? Do you really think _that little of me_?"

"No, JJ -" Emily started.

"JJ -" Hotch tried too.

But she was heading for the door.

She turned back long enough to tell them:

"When his alibi comes back solid, you know where to find me."

And then the door slammed, and she was gone.

…

When Emily returned to the hotel room later, it was in darkness and JJ was in bed.

When she'd changed and slipped into the makeshift bed that was her cot, Emily listened to the room.

JJ didn't have the deep, rhythmic breathing of someone who was asleep.

So Emily asked her, speaking into the darkness:

"I don't know what to think. But I know that you need someone on your side. And I'd like to be that."

Seconds passed in silence and Emily began to wonder if JJ would just pretend to be asleep.

But suddenly JJ spoke up, quiet and thoughtful:

"Maybe I settled. Maybe I don't hide it well enough. Maybe Will has more than enough reason to secretly hate me. But he's a good man. And at our absolute worst, the most he's ever done…"

She trailed off, and Emily had to prompt her to continue:

"Is what?"

"He called me a selfish bitch. Once. In the heat of the moment. Weeks ago. After a week when they'd barely seen me and I came home with my head still on the job. And he apologized. A lot."

At Emily's silence, JJ added:

"Couples fight."

And Emily wondered if she was hearing things when she thought she detected a note of uncertainty.

They were both silent long enough for Emily to think JJ was trying to sleep, when she finally spoke up again.

"I think I know when that picture was taken."

Emily waited, let her talk.

"We'd had this little party. He had friends in town. I'd had a couple of drinks. Not much, not with Henry. But enough that when I woke up and… thought there'd been lightning, and, uh… and Will was standing there laughing and telling me to go back to sleep… I thought maybe it had just been too long since I'd had much to drink and I'd turned into a light weight."

There was more silence.

Then JJ continued:

"He could have been up to use the washroom. Someone else could have been there. We've seen stranger things. You know that."

"I do."

"It's not impossible."

"It's not," Emily allowed.

But it was far from likely.

And somehow it was Emily that stayed awake all night and JJ that eventually drifted off to sleep.

And it wasn't much past dawn when Emily quietly clicked out a text message, and slipped out of the room.

…

"This needs to stay between us," Emily noted as she slipped into a chair across from Morgan.

They were in a coffee shop kitty-corner to the hotel, and Morgan already had a cup.

He nodded as he brought the drink to his lips, but she needed him to get it.

"I'm serious," she pressed. "I'm telling you because you're Mr. Obsessional Crimes and you should know. But we need JJ to have someone to trust right now. And as of now that's me, and I don't want to jeopardize that."

"She tell you something?" Morgan asked.

"Two somethings. One, she remembers the night that picture was taken. She mistook the flash for lightning. Will was standing by the bed."

At Morgan's raised eyebrows, she added:

"JJ had been drinking before bed and she thinks it's possible Will was just coming back from the washroom."

"Do you?" Morgan asked, and Emily ignored the question.

"The other thing is… and I want it on the record that I was up most of the night hating the thought of breaking her confidence…" At his nod, she continued: "They've been fighting about her being away."

She neglected to mention that they might also be fighting about just how much JJ did or didn't love him. Some confidences shouldn't be broken, even for this.

"Fighting like how?"

"Fighting like he called her a selfish bitch."

Morgan took that in, took another sip of his coffee, staring into space.

And when he spoke again, he'd changed the subject:

"You think we short-changed this kid?"

"What?" Emily asked, thrown by the shift.

"We gotta be back at the station in… what, two hours? And what have we got? A missing eleven-year-old and some vague hope that Garcia _might_ be able to enhance the video surveillance even more. And almost no hope that'll help."

"We've been distracted, but we've been…" Emily started, considering. "I don't think we let anything go. Every lead's been followed. Every local sex offender considered and rejected. Every family member questioned. Every teacher -"

"You don't think we're off our game? Might have missed a tell in one of those interviews?"

Emily thought it through. Then told him:

"I think once in a blue moon the old familiar answers don't get us anywhere. And that maybe this is the one kid who really was abducted at random by a first-timer without a record."

"Means we're not going to find her," Morgan noted solemnly.

And he crushed his paper coffee cup between his fingers.

"It also means she was probably dead before we ever made it to town," Emily noted. Then added: "Which I do know as well as you do, doesn't really help."

"No," Morgan agreed. "But I guess it's better." At Emily's look, he added: "Not to think we were so busy failing JJ, we failed this kid, too."

…

Later, all six of them were at the local station.

Five of them working on their kidnapping case.

JJ, answering questions about her own.

There was not yet an answer about Will's alibi.

He was apparently camping with a friend, currently, and no one had been able to track him down.

Morgan was headed into the station post-coffee run when he caught sight of one of the detectives on JJ's case, and a thought occurred to him.

He caught up.

"Detective?"

"We have a break?" the woman asked quickly, spinning to face him.

Detective Shoals had been put on JJ's case, but she'd started out on the kidnapping.

"Nothing yet," Morgan told her. "We're waiting on one more his-res enhancement from our tech."

"There's talk of calling in neighboring counties, getting a grid search started just outside town. I think… some of our people, they're sure they're looking for a body."

"Might be coming to that," Morgan admitted. And it hurt, but it wasn't why he was there. "You took Agent Jareau's initial statement? In the hospital?"

The woman nodded, her expression sympathetic.

And Morgan asked her:

"She say anything about a birthmark? Back of his neck? Shape of a star?"

…

He caught JJ coming out of the ladies' room.

"You got a sec?"

She looked at him, and he realized that she did, and probably wished she didn't.

"Just come sit down, have a coffee with me," he told her.

And she eyed the tray in his hands.

"You got five coffees for the two of us?"

"I'll drop these off. You and I can go find some donut shop."

"Why?"

"'Cause you need some things cleared up."

It was the wrong thing to say, and she turned defensive.

"Oh, I do? I really need some help?"

"JJ…" He hadn't been planning to do this here, but that tone in her voice irked the hell out of him. "I talked to Detective Shoals. You never said a thing about a birthmark."

That stunned her, for a just a second. Then she recovered:

"You really want to have this discussion? You want me to explain to you how I was in shock, and maybe didn't say everything out loud that was in my head?"

"I want to sit down and talk about reality."

She stepped back away from him, threw him a scornful look.

"You know I really, really don't need this right now?"

And he was sorry.

But she needed to hear this:

"What you need is to get that the man you _live with_ is the same one who's been doing this to you. Until you're willing to admit that and _discuss it_, you're tying our hands on your case."

"You know what, you can go to hell," she tossed at him. "You don't know the first thing about my relationship with Will."

She started to walk away, and he spotted Emily approaching them, and before he could stop himself –

"I know you _live with_ a man who calls you a selfish bitch!" he called after JJ.

And she spun, and Emily froze.

JJ's eyes were wounded.

"That's excellent. Thank you," she shot at Emily.

And she headed for the front door of the station.

"JJ!" Emily called after her.

And JJ spoke without looking back:

"You can all go to hell."

…

Emily was all over him as they rejoined the others and he put down the coffees that were likely getting cold.

"She needed _someone_ she could confide in so that she didn't lose her mind and we didn't lose what could be details relevant to the profile!"

"Em -"

"And I told you that!"

"Would someone like to explain what we missed?" Rossi queried.

"JJ took off -" Morgan started.

"After _you_ pushed her way too hard!" Emily accused.

Hotch opened his mouth to rein them in –

But – suddenly –

Reid was out of his chair - and nearly knocking it over in his exuberance –

"Guys!" he shouted, though they were maybe five feet away from where he'd been working at a laptop, studying the new images from Garcia.

"Something we can use?" Hotch asked, moving to him.

They all made their way over, none of them missing the slack-jawed shock on his face.

"I don't understand," he muttered.

And they looked at the computer, at the image he had pulled up.

And it didn't make any sense.

And they stared at each other.

This was the girl's _kidnapper_.

It was the wrong case.

But there it was.

On the back of his neck.

A birthmark.

In the distinct shape of a star.

…


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: _

_Part of me wanted to abandon this story after hearing the depressing news of the departure of my favorite character. But I'm glad I didn't. That said, I don't know that I'm writing this quite as I would be had the state of the show not changed. _

_It is what it is, and hopefully somebody out there can still get something out of it. In any case, we're nearing the end… Feedback would be lovely. _

**Stalker**

Chapter Six

There was shocked silence.

Utter confusion.

Then, a comment from Morgan that Will had an accomplice.

And then there was yelling.

Emily: "Why is it so hard for you to accept that _maybe -_"

Morgan: "All I'm sayin' here is that there's too much evidence -"

Emily: "_Evidence? _Suppositions! Guesses! There's no real evidence that Will had anything to do with -"

Morgan: "Forgive me if I'm not a rose-colored glasses kind of guy!"

Then Rossi: "It would be unusual for this kind of stalker to have an accomplice -"

And Morgan: "You see anything _usual_ about _any of this?_"

Reid squeaked "Um, guys?"

And Hotch took pity on him, and finally spoke up himself:

"Enough." It was firm, and it caught them, even at a lower volume. "We're not getting anywhere."

They were silent for a moment, then Reid noted:

"None of this makes any sense."

"No it doesn't," Hotch agreed. "But one thing that seems pretty clear is that we were lured here. That might be good news for our victim -"

"And bad news for JJ," Reid pointed out.

"It might be," Hotch allowed. "We need to figure out the _why_. We need to go over everything with fresh eyes."

He started grabbing folders and papers, then added:

"And we need to find JJ. Now."

…

JJ was driving.

And reeling.

Which probably wasn't a good combination.

She tried to force herself to focus on the road.

And Henry.

She'd get to him, put everything else away.

Will, the team. Nightmares. Reality.

Danger.

It'd all have to wait.

She couldn't let any of it in anymore.

Henry was still simple.

So she'd get to him, hold him in her arms, and maybe get an hour of sleep tonight.

The sudden ring of her phone jarred her.

Emily.

(Again.)

JJ reached over and switched off her phone.

…

"Her stuff is still in her hotel room," Reid announced, phone to his ear. "But she's not."

"Second SUV's gone," Morgan told them, coming back from outside.

Then Emily spoke up, dropping her phone on to the table in frustration: "She's still not answering."

Hotch took it all in, instructed Morgan: "Get Garcia tracking that car."

Then Hotch took a seat, and the others followed suit.

"Calmly," Hotch warned them, "Let's talk this through."

"Neither case made sense," Morgan offered. "Now we know why."

"But he was stalking JJ at home. Why draw her here?" Hotch questioned.

"If this is Will and an accomplice?" Reid jumped in. "Then he needed her here because he was going to be here."

"He was the one who pressed for this trip," Emily told them. "Why would he complicate things for himself like that?"

"Maybe he figures, things happen to her while he's away, he's free and clear as a suspect," Morgan suggested.

And Emily was incredulous:

"So he attacks her _here_?"

"Maybe he thinks he's still far enough away that nobody makes the connection. Maybe he's got a wingman who's breaking the rules. Maybe -"

"'Maybes' aren't getting us anywhere," Rossi cut in. "Point is that we were lured here, which makes the little girl a side note and JJ their focus. Now, whether Will's involved or not, the fact that he was coming south is in all likelihood why JJ had to, too. Which means, if it's not him -"

Reid's eyes were wide, as he finished the thought for Rossi:

"It's probably someone he knows."

They were quiet for a moment, and then a thought hit Emily:

"Damn," she half whispered, half breathed. And at their looks, she explained: "The night that last photo was taken, Will had friends in town. They'd all been drinking."

They all realized what that could mean, but Rossi said it out loud:

"So the odds that someone else could have made his way to her bedside to snap that photo just gained a little ground."

"Guys," Reid got their attention, "I think, I mean, she's probably going for Henry. Where else, right? If she's feeling betrayed, and… That's where she'd go, right?"

"Very possibly," Hotch allowed.

"So then…" Reid continued. "I mean, I guess it's a bit… alarmist, maybe, since we don't know who, but… is anyone else feeling a bit… concerned? 'Cause when we checked out Will's alibi? It turned out he was camping with friends, right? But the thing is, he also left Henry with friends. Do we really… do we really want her heading in that direction?"

It didn't necessarily have to mean anything.

But it wasn't comforting, either.

Hotch asked: "Have we got a location on the vehicle yet?"

And Morgan looked ready to smash his own cell phone as he complained:

"The one damn time Penelope Garcia doesn't pick up her phone."

"Call Kevin," Hotch instructed, "Tell him it's a personal favor -"

"No need," Rossi broke in.

And they all turned to find Garcia making her way toward them.

"I've been too far, for too long, with far too much going on," Garcia announced. "And these commercial flight attendants have no mercy with the cell phone rule."

She glanced around, asked them:

"Where's my girl?"

…

Sitting in her 'borrowed' bureau car, outside the house where her family was apparently staying, JJ found that she couldn't move.

Will might still be camping.

He might also be in the house.

And while she was almost completely certain he was innocent – and probably would have been completely certain if she hadn't seen all the things she'd seen over the years – she still wasn't sure she wanted to face him.

She wouldn't be able to tell him.

'Hey, Honey, I can't ever let you touch me again' – that wasn't an easy conversation to have.

It felt like a coward's move, but she grabbed her cell phone, and dialed his.

She needed to know. Where he was, what to expect.

She was immediately informed by a mechanical voice that the person she was trying to reach was unavailable.

Which was strange.

Will's phone was always on.

But maybe it meant he had no cell signal, and he'd turned off his phone to save the battery.

Maybe he wasn't here, and she could make the last few steps to her son in peace.

She stepped out of the car and noticed for the first time that there were other cars lining the street, and wondered if Will's oldest pals were gathered together for drinks tonight.

It wasn't ideal.

But better a house full of friendly acquaintances than a man she couldn't look in the eye.

She started toward the front door.

…

The team was on the road in two SUVs.

Hotch and Reid listened to Rossi make a phone call as their vehicle raced down the road:

"No, she hasn't broken any laws – No, we can't say for sure that any danger is imminent, but what I'm asking is – Yes, I know, it's 'damn late', _Detective_, but this is from one law enforcement officer to another, asking for a favor for yet another law enforcement officer, because we can't get to her as soon as you can!" He was silent for a moment, then added curtly: "It would be nice if you could get around to it!"

He hung up abruptly.

"Locals say they'll check on her."

Hotch pressed:

"But?"

"His tone says 'eventually'."

Hotch stepped on the gas.

…

Morgan drove the other vehicle, with Emily in the passenger seat and Garcia in the back.

He wondered, vaguely, if anyone had thought to call any of this in, or what they would have said.

It was a damn strange night.

And a tense one, too.

Emily spoke up, suddenly but quietly, a hitch in her voice:

"We're gonna lose her."

Morgan shook his head:

"Don't go there, Em."

Emily shot an apologetic glance into the back seat, where she knew Garcia's heart was likely breaking at the thought, before she continued:

"I keep trying… but I can't see this ending any other way."

"We'll get there!" Morgan insisted. "Whoever this guy is, he doesn't even know that we're on to this. He's not gonna -"

"That's not what I mean," Emily cut in.

They were all silent for a long moment, before Emily finally admitted:

"If I was JJ? If I'd been through… what she's been through?" Silence, again. Then: "I don't mean feeling betrayed. I don't mean us not believing in her." She paused again, because they'd all been avoiding the word since it had happened to one of their own. "I mean the rape. I mean that I don't know that I could get up in the morning and look at all the things we have to look at and deal with all the things we have to deal with… and put ourselves in all the situations, that we have to put ourselves in…"

She waited, but Morgan didn't do anything but stare out at the road and clench the steering wheel harder.

"I don't like it any better than you do," Emily told him, tears blurring her view of the passing roadside. "But even if we get there… even if we get this guy… even if nothing else happens… I can't shake this feeling. We're gonna lose her."

There was something like a sob from the back seat.

And Emily forced herself to backtrack out of the doom that had been settling on her for days:

"Penelope… I'm sorry. Maybe I've just seen too much of her, these last few days. We've been in the same hotel room… maybe I've been too close. Maybe she's even stronger than we think. Maybe if nothing else happens -"

"Nothing else is going to happen," Morgan declared, stepping harder on the gas. "Nothing else is gonna happen."

…

JJ said quick hellos and how-are-yous to the gathered poker players when she entered the house.

They confirmed for her that Will hadn't arrived back yet, but that he was expected soon.

It put a knot in the pit of her stomach for a moment, until Mara Jenison told her she'd had a phone call.

Mara was the only woman in the room, an old friend of Will's going back as far as high school.

JJ forced a smile:

"Someone from work?"

"An Agent Reid, kind of excitable, you ask me. Asked if you were here, said he thought you were coming. Said to tell you, if you showed up here, that they were all sorry, said you would know what it was about. Said to tell you and only you, which was the strange part, really, that they cracked your case wide open, and that you should call, even if you're angry."

JJ managed to keep her face even.

She hid the relief that coursed through her.

Will had nothing to do with anything.

_The team had a real line on her stalker_.

It was a moment before she could breathe.

And then she managed to nod and thank the woman, and assure her she would call.

Which she would, eventually.

But it was late, and she didn't want to deal with any of it tonight.

She'd let the team catch whoever it was they were getting close to catching.

Let herself have a chance at a decent night's sleep.

And tomorrow she'd figure it all out. Who owed who thank-yous and apologies, where she stood with the team. And for that matter, with her career.

It was a mess. And it would have to wait.

JJ asked where to find her sleeping son, then started up the stairs.

She saw nothing of the man sitting at the head of the poker table with an ace-high flush he hadn't even seen.

She had no idea he'd gone stock-still and deathly pale at Mara's words.

And she'd never been close enough to see the birthmark on his neck.

…

It was Clint McAllister's house, and when the poker game broke up and the house began to empty out, he invited JJ to stay the night and wait for Will.

It was Clint McAllister's house, but it was Mara Jenison who offered to make up a bed for her.

Clint wasn't much for 'women's work'.

JJ had never liked him, or the aging southern stereotype he clung to.

But he'd known Will forever, and Henry was asleep in his house, so she declined Mara's offer and accepted Clint's, happy to slip into the same guest bed as her son and keep him close.

Now, the house was quiet and Henry was fast asleep and burrowed against her side.

And the mess that was her life was still a mess.

But for the moment, it hurt less.

She took in a deep breath.

Reveled at being able to do so.

Kissed the top of Henry's head, let her eyes drift shut.

Let the warmth and weight and _comfort_ of sleep overcome her.

And it was nice.

It was peaceful.

It was beautiful.

But a floorboard _squeaked_. Outside the bedroom door.

And that was all it took.

Her attention snapped right back into focus.

Her heartbeat sped up.

And she told herself it was probably just Clint using the bathroom.

But she was at the end of the hall. No one should have been outside that door.

And_ someone was_.

She couldn't move.

The door swung open while she watched.

Clint McAllister was standing there.

Nothing short of murder in his eyes.

And in his right hand - _a gun_.

…

They were idiots, Will thought for the hundredth time, looking over at his oldest friend, Shane, behind the wheel.

They were too damn old to enjoy this like they had when they were kids.

They'd been caught in the rain, had their dinner stolen by a bear, and tipped their canoe into the water – with their cell phones in their pockets.

Then they'd had an hour-long fight about whose fault it had been.

They were, indeed, idiots.

But he knew, looking over at his buddy, that it could have been funny.

He'd been too tense, too busy worrying about why JJ had barely returned his calls.

Something was wrong, he knew.

He just didn't know what, and damn if it didn't grate on him.

"Shane, I've been a jackass," he admitted out loud.

His friend guffawed, told him:

"That ain't new."

Shane's smile said he was far less irrated than Will himself.

And as if to confirm it, he clapped Will on the shoulder, told him:

"Buck up, we're almost home."

…

"What's she, like, sitting in front of the house?" Reid queried out loud. "All this time?"

"The car hasn't moved?" Hotch asked from the driver's seat of their vehicle.

"It hasn't," Reid confirmed.

Hotch instructed:

"Try the house again. We're almost there."

…

JJ was struck by one thing.

Two things, maybe.

All-consuming fear, yes.

But under that, an irony.

For hours that evening, all she'd wanted was to have her son right there by her side.

Now, she would have given her right arm to have him anywhere else.

Somewhere downstairs, a phone rang.

Clint didn't even seem to hear it.

He was staring at her quietly, with seething eyes.

She'd never liked him, but she'd never seen him like this.

Would never have thought he was her stalker, if this moment hadn't announced it to her.

For all her years working with profilers, she had no idea how to talk him down.

But she had a goal, and she started with:

"Whatever our problem is, Will's son has no part in it."

'Will's son' - she said it consciously. Hoped it would help.

But Clint came back with quiet fury:

"You took a man who could kill a chicken with his bare hands and drink any man in the room under the table, and you made him your bitch."

JJ blinked, struggled to process that.

She'd… ruined Will? That was Clint's problem?

All _this_ to break them up?

Or was this punishment, for being a career-driven mom?

She could hear Hotch's voice inside her head: _"It only has to make sense to him."_

And if she was going to get Clint out of this room where her son slept, she'd have to play along.

If she could make her voice work.

"I've made some bad choices," she allowed. "I'm sorry."

His seething glare didn't break, and he didn't speak.

So she continued, feeling her heart squeeze at the sight of Henry beginning to stir:

"You're probably right. Will… might be better off. He could live without me. Maybe he should. But he can't live without his son. He loves this boy."

"You really are a bitch and a half, aren't you?" Clint muttered. "You think you know Will better than me? Which one of us sat up all damn night last year, listening to that sweet guy, the one you're _too good to marry_, pour out his damn heart?"

Somewhere, under the fear and desperation that were making it so hard to keep her voice even, JJ bristled with guilt. Wondered if there was any truth to Clint's words.

But it wasn't the point.

"I'm going to ask you, for Will's sake, to take me somewhere else. To leave his boy out of it."

Clint said nothing.

He just moved his finger to the trigger.

And JJ could see it in his eyes –

_It was almost over. _

And Henry was waking up.

And her son was going to _see this_.

And so it killed her, but she forced the word from her mouth:

"_Please." _

She hated the break in her voice.

She _hated_, with everything in her, to beg this man.

And the words she had to say, they only got harder:

"I'll do whatever you want. I'll let you do whatever you want." She whispered, closing her eyes tight: _"I won't fight you."_

And it was the best and the worst thing to say to him.

Because he leaned in.

Fixed her with a challenging glare.

And whispered:

"You think I can't do it?"

And suddenly he was dragging her from the room.

…

Will and his buddy Shane were mere blocks from their pal Clint`s place when Will took note of the two identical Suburbans speeding past them.

They looked familiar.

And a chill shot through him.

"Speed up!"

Shane turned, looked at him in confusion.

"What`s your hurry -"

"Just step on it!"

…

Henry was elsewhere.

She'd accomplished that much.

But as they reached the bottom of the staircase, Clint was pulling at his belt.

And she wanted to scream and cry and vomit and curse the world.

Instead _she fought_.

He had a gun, and she didn`t care.

She kicked at his shins, tried to knee him the groin, bit down on his arm – _hard_ –

- and received a slap in the face.

And then he was looming over her.

And moonlight glinted off his gun.

And headlights swept the room – once, twice – _three times_ –

And there were panicked voices outside -

And Clint took aim –

And there was a rush of footsteps, a blur of clothes –

_- A_ _gunshot_ –

Then a groan of pain.

And it took JJ only a moment.

Just a moment, to realize that the pained cry had not been her own.

…


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: _

_Hopefully, this functions as a nice bookend. As I've said before, under the circumstances, this one didn't really unfold as planned. Admittedly, much of the inspiration has gone. But there are things that I never quite understood about JJ's relationship, and if nothing else, I've had a chance to explore that here. In any case, I'm glad it's reached what I hope is a fitting end. These characters, this show, this fandom – it's been quite a ride. I hope some of you have enjoyed it as much as I have. _

_As always, I'd love to hear from you. _

**Stalker**

Epilogue

It was incredible.

The things that other peoples' _guilt_ could allow.

The thought ran through JJ's head as she sat down on her couch to wait.

Incredible, too, the things that her own _need_ could force her to accept.

It had started in those first few moments, right after Clint McAllister had hit two birds with one stone.

…

"_Emily?" JJ heard herself mutter. _

_None of it made sense. _

_The pain on Emily's face, the blood on her shirt. _

_The pain in her own stomach. _

"_Are you all right?" Emily asked her. _

_And JJ opened her mouth to answer and found that she didn't know. _

_She couldn't understand. _

_Hotch was there, across the room, cuffing Clint. Rossi and Reid were with him. _

_And Morgan, he was leaning over them on the floor. _

_And his words brought clarity: _

"_Goddammit, it went right through her! Penelope!" He said her name like he needed to get her attention. "Tell 911 they've __**both**__ been shot. We need __**two**__ ambulances." _

_JJ thought she heard Garcia's panicky voice somewhere behind them. _

_She knew she felt Morgan gently moving them._

"_Reid, get over here," Morgan said next. _

_And suddenly the pain flared up, ten times worse, and JJ realized the two men were trying to keep pressure on both wounds. _

"_Hey," Morgan said quietly, and JJ looked over to realize he was talking to Emily. "Hey, you're too damn thin, huh? Isn't that a feather in your cap, or somethin'? You're also a hero and a half, Em. Hang in." _

_But Emily wasn't looking at Morgan. _

_She was staring at JJ. _

_Their eyes locked. _

_And it was insane, but Emily looked – __**concerned. Apologetic, **__even._

_JJ tried to speak, tried to thank her. _

_But every part of her felt drowned in molasses. _

_She couldn't even move to offer comfort. _

_She __**should have**__. _

_Emily had just taken a bullet __**for her**__. _

_And yet here they were, and it was Emily's hand that was snaking towards hers, squeezing with gentle, barely-there pressure. _

"_Don't go anywhere," Emily murmured. _

_And though Morgan and Reid were speaking, too… and there were other, blurry images that passed by her eyes as she was moved into the ambulance… and somewhere along the line Will arrived and hovered over her…_

_It was that image that stayed with JJ all night. _

_Emily. _

_Asking, maybe begging. _

"_**Don't go anywhere."**_

…

Their wounds had not been life-threatening.

But they had both been kept in the hospital longer than either of them had wanted.

Hotch had wrangled the nurses into moving them into the same room.

Neither of them had asked for it, but Hotch, in his wisdom, had made the choice for them.

The first night, they were both drugged to a point of rarely being conscious, and they never caught each other awake.

The second night, they'd blown past each others' varied thank-yous and apologies with words like "_Don't be silly_", and a few heart-felt tears.

It was too soon to really deal with it.

Neither had made sense of their realities yet.

But there were old issues. Old realities.

And because Will and Henry had just gone, and Emily was too damn good a friend, and JJ needed someone to talk to, and the painkillers had her guard down.

She opened up, rather than letting poor Emily rest.

Emily had just taken a bullet for her, but JJ found herself talking her ear off anyway:

…

"_You know that feeling," JJ all but whispered into the dark, "When you close your eyes at night, and some moment, some image that was too much… a hole in some guy's head, some five-year-old decomposing… it keeps coming back, and you just… your stomach just rolls?" _

"_Yeah," Emily whispered. "I think we all do." _

"_I think I tell myself a lot of lies," JJ told her. _

"_We all do that, too," Emily assured her. _

"_I told myself I was happy." _

_JJ let that phrase be for a moment, before she followed up: _

"_But the thing is, way back, before any of you guys knew, that I was pregnant… when I knew, and I was trying to… get used to it… there was a time that that image that haunted me before bed…" She paused, hesitated, and admitted: "It was Will. Smiling. __**His smile**__ haunted me. And I knew it was twisted. All the bodies and blood and tears that we saw every day, and it was my boyfriend's smiling face that made me feel sick at night?But I was so… afraid. To hurt him." _

_She thought it over, added: _

"_He believed that we were happy. And every day I kissed him back and dug myself a little deeper." _

_Emily pointed out: _

"_But you love Henry." _

"_More than anything in the world," JJ said quickly, easily. Without doubt. "But I think that's the thing. I mean, maybe that's what made it easy. I loved that family image for him. So I believed we were happy." _

"_You tried to do the right thing," Emily told her. _

_But it was an excuse: _

"_I short-changed us both because I was too afraid to hurt him." _

"_You were well-intentioned." _

"_I was a coward." _

_Silence reigned again for a moment. _

_Then: _

"_JJ," Emily said quietly, getting her attention: "None of this makes Clint McAllister right." _

"_No," JJ agreed. "No, but it does leave me not knowing where the hell we go from here." _

…

Where the hell they went from there turned out to be easy, all because Will was drowning in guilt.

He'd done nothing, other than open up his life and his frustrations to an old friend.

But he blamed himself for not seeing it.

Clint McAllister had tried to be a stalker and gotten it all wrong.

He'd terrorized JJ, confused the hell out of the team she considered family, then nearly killed two of them.

He'd tried to keep an eleven-year-old girl in his basement and vowed to raise her to 'know her place'.

It was sick, and Will felt he should have seen it.

He knew the history.

Clint had lost his 'perfect' wife.

Months later he'd lost his brother to suicide, an act the man's family had blamed on his cold-and-distant wife, who'd dared to love her career as a lawyer.

Then Will had complained to Clint about JJ.

JJ knew all of this, now, and she knew the part that really killed Will.

He'd been comforted by Clint's disgust, rather than concerned.

He'd missed it.

He'd even bought into Clint's excuses, the day Will had left a sleeping Henry in his house and come back to find them both gone.

Will blamed himself, hated himself.

And so he'd made it all easy.

He'd used his father's life insurance to rent an apartment just down the block from their family home.

He'd told JJ to take her time, keep her space, make her way through.

He'd let her know Henry was right down the street any time she wanted to see him, but that she didn't have to worry about him. Or Will, either.

It was more than she deserved, JJ knew.

It was more than anybody deserved.

But she was still drowning in nightmares and struggling to get through the days.

She still saw Will's face and felt angry hands trying to be his.

And so she allowed it.

She saw Henry every day, kept Will at arms' length.

Vowed not to let it go on forever.

Planned to pay next rent's month herself.

Have a real heart-to-heart with Will as soon as she could stand it.

Let him know that he had the freedom to see other people, and let herself off the hook.

None of it was guilt-free.

Nothing would be, for either of them.

But it was all she could do to make that much sense of it all.

And she found, day after day, that she was more concerned with getting back to work.

She didn't know if it was her focus because it was easier or because it mattered more.

She was pretty sure she didn't want to know.

Regardless, the team was the pressing issue in her mind.

She'd been packing to the leave the hospital when Emily finally brought it up:

…

"_The job is a part of you," Emily said suddenly, and JJ looked up from where she was clearing out the small drawer by her bedside. _

_She thought for a moment, then told her: _

"_I know." _

"_It's a big part. Maybe more than you realize." _

"_Em, I realize. I know." _

_And JJ could see that Emily had to force herself to say the next part: _

"_You need to do what's right for you." Then she couldn't help saying: "But it might not be what you think." _

_JJ just looked at her, wondered if she'd ever come out and say what she was really saying. _

_Everyone knew she had a meeting with Strauss on the books. _

"_We need you," Emily finally said. _

_And it was close enough._

_But it still wasn't easy. _

…

It had taken weeks of therapy.

Weeks, in which she never set foot in her office at the BAU.

Her office, which Hotch refused to let anyone touch.

She'd gone to him, after those weeks, talked it out:

…

"_If you think it's going to be a big impediment -"_

"_It won't be." Hotch sounded sure. _

"_I'm not saying I'll never be ready to -"_

"_JJ, I know." _

"_So… so then -"_

"_No Kevlar, no violent offender interviews. We can start there." _

"_And that won't be a problem?" _

"_JJ," he said quietly, waiting for her eyes. "You are inevitably one of my favorite solutions." _

_He blessed her with a rare smile. _

_And she left feeling good. _

…

That had been this morning.

Now, she waited.

She still wasn't sure she had the words for the next conversation.

She wasn't sure they existed.

But something would have to do, because she heard the knock on her door, and went to let Emily in.

"Everything okay?" Emily asked, and JJ realized she probably seemed awfully serious.

They'd had a few dinners with Garcia in recent weeks, and they'd learned to be casual with each other again.

But today wasn't one of those days.

"I've been trying to figure out how to thank you," JJ told her.

"You've thanked me."

"Not enough."

"JJ -"

"I'm not just talking about the bullet. I don't even know where to begin to thank you for that. And I started thinking about, like, buying you something, but that seemed… completely inadequate."

"It's not necessary."

"I needed to do something. And I realized I can't repay the favor unless something bad happens to you, and I'm not going to sit around hoping for that, so… I figured the best thing I can do is be available, as your shoulder to cry on. If it's needed. Day to day." She left a beat, then added: "Case to case."

And Emily smiled a careful smile.

"Are you saying…?"

"I'm not saying you're the only reason. 'Cause you were right. The job is a part of me. Sometimes I think maybe too big a part." She sighed, smiled. "But yes. Yeah. I'm coming back."

Emily grinned fully now, moved to hug her.

But when she broke the embrace, she was the serious one.

"Look, if we're putting all this baggage to bed… If this is moving on? I think this is the time for me to say – and you're going to have to actually let me say it – I'm sorry."

JJ shook her head, rolled her eyes.

"Em -"

"No, I'm serious. I made a promise to you. And then I left you alone against my better judgment -"

"I told you -"

"I don't care what you told me. I made a bad choice and everything went to hell. And I'm sorry."

"Em, your promise was that you _weren't going anywhere_." She caught her eyes, continued: "That's what you gave me, when this all started. And you followed it through. And… I think… I think that's what I'm trying to say, right now."

Emily nodded, put it to words:

"You're not going anywhere."

"No."

They were both quiet for a moment.

And then Emily, smiling and _being Emily_, made everything okay:

"As closure goes, I'll take it."

…


End file.
